


Spirit

by fightfortherightsofhouseelves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/pseuds/fightfortherightsofhouseelves
Summary: A series of firsts, magic and love.





	1. May 27th, 1995

He hadn’t been there for six whole years, but Merlin, it felt exactly like it always did. The familiarity of it all, the warmth, the joy that would forever be linked to Hogwarts in his mind. The grounds he knew so well, the secret passageways he could still remember and all the stolen moments he’d lived hidden within them, the exciting buzz and never-ending chatter of the students as he walked through the Great Hall. Of course, when his Mum said she wanted to go support Harry for his final task, he was the first to offer to accompany her, even taking himself by surprise. It just never occurred to him, until that very moment, how much he actually missed this place, his second real home.

He noticed his Mum had the same light in her eyes, the one that told him she was reminiscing long lost days. She, too, must have held a special spot in her heart for the old school. A smile was playing at the corner of her lips and she almost looked girlish. In spite of all her bickering and disapproval of his ways, Bill was very fond of his mother and loved her deeply. Seeing her joyful made him happy as well.

“Oh, there’s Harry,” Mrs Weasley noticed, pointing towards a skinny teenager, with a mop of dark hair and a sullen face. Bill obediently followed his mother, privately thinking that what the boy really needed, more than a hug actually, was a ticket out of this competition. He shook his head and went by Harry’s side, fondly patting him on the shoulder as older brothers usually do when reacquainted with their younger siblings. As the rest of his clan, Bill Weasley started thinking of Harry as part of the family, secretly agreeing with his brothers that he’d make a right match for Ginny. Not that they cared to share with her their little elder brotherly conversation, surely not; she’d hex them all into the next day if she ever found out. It was him, after all, that had taught her all the funny, wicked hexes, and he was wiser than to go around saying things that would upset his baby sister. Bill smirked and switched his attention back to the teenager in front of him.

“Apparently, all champions are accompanied by their parents and family today,” Bill thought as he looked around. “The Diggorys, with Amos as obnoxious and loudmouthed as ever, and next to them, by their strong Vs, probably the Krums – huh, that’s an interesting thought, even big Quidditch heroes need their mummy from time to time; and the last group is probably French, if my ears to do not deceive me. If they’re one bit like that bloke I had to work with back in Egypt, then I’m not really keen on meeting them,” he continued his musings, unconsciously combing his shoulder-length hair with his long, freckled fingers. Twisting the elastic band between his thumb and index finger, Bill tied his ginger locks back into his usual ponytail and patted the top of his head in search of any stray hairs.

A bizarre feeling interrupted his thoughts. He felt like he was being watched. All of a sudden, the atmosphere in the room started suffocating him, he couldn’t breathe well and he had the impulse to swish his wand and bang all the windows open. Inspecting the room, he identified the source of the nuisance in the form of a pair of large, deep blue eyes, fixed on him with such a determination it took Bill by surprise. And beneath them, the most seductive little mouth he’d ever seen. They belonged to a girl, a woman almost, of such breathtaking beauty it nearly made him feel dizzy. Even as she was standing there, watching him intently from the other side of the room, Bill knew he’d never know anyone as graceful, as interesting as her. His fingers brushed over the fanged earring and it dangled, making her quirk an eyebrow and bite her lip ever so slightly. He noticed she had pearly white, even teeth, and full, red lips, which seemed to be made only to be worshiped and kissed. What he didn’t notice, though, was his mother observing their private exchange with a critical eye, a  _ humph _ and the crossing of her arms against her chest, an old sign of disapproval Molly Weasley had patented herself.

Even as they left the room, walking with Harry round the Hogwarts grounds, his mind stayed with the girl, wondering who she was, and where she came from; whether he’d ever get to see her again, or maybe get the chance to speak to her.

“Last to enter the maze is our charming champion, Miss Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons Academy,” Ludo Bagman’s voice boomed from above the stadium. He was sitting next to Mrs Weasley, his brothers, Ginny and Hermione, cheering for Harry and silently praying he’ll be just as lucky for the last task as he had been for the first two. They knew in their heart of hearts that nothing but sheer luck had protected the boy so far, coupled with pure Gryffindor wit and bravery.

“Fleur,” he thought. “A graceful flower,” Bill smirked slightly, amused by his own cheesiness, his gaze fixed on the back of her blonde head. “So she is French, then. Oh well, guess I’ll have to work around that,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. He heard his sister scoffing, but was too caught up in his own mind to try and mask his feelings – or even the red splash of colour than crept up his features, a curse each member of the Weasley clan had to bore.

As the time went by and the champions progressed within the maze, the Weasleys and Hermione tried to maintain a calm and comforting tone to their conversation. Each of them was waiting for the Tournament to finally be over, to know that Harry was once again safe and to be relieved of the strain they’d been feeling ever since the poor boy had been announced as fourth champion.

A scream and Bill’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively knew it was her, Fleur, that something might have happened to her. He wanted to jump off the bench he’d been sharing with the many members of his family and to run, no, fly to her side, see if she’s alright.

“Seems like this was not a good day for Miss Delacour, but I’m being told that she is out of any serious harm,” Bagman informed. It was the first time Bill had been grateful to hear him, and he sighed in relief.

“Good thing she didn’t end up eaten by the Sphinx,” George commented.

“Yeah, too pretty to be mangled, that one,” Fred supplemented his twin’s thought. “Uptight, though,” he added, after thinking it through, eliciting a giggle out of Ginny. Bill felt slightly annoyed with his brothers, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

The time dragged by painfully slow, seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours. If he concentrated hard enough, he was positive he could hear his own nerves cracking under the pressure that engulfed the whole stadium. Apparently, they’d found Viktor Krum knocked out in the heart of the maze, the Imperius curse cast on him, while Harry and the Diggory boy were still somewhere inside, fighting to secure the first place and a chance at eternal glory.

A lifetime passed before they appeared at the end of the maze, all smeared in blood, Harry shouting and Cedric looking so stiff. So cold. And that’s when all hell broke loose. Bill couldn’t quite remember much of what followed after, in the mayhem and daze that everyone drenched in. He could only recall walking after Albus Dumbledore, stepping inside the Hospital Wing and offering to be the one to carry the message. He’d left Hogwarts before he realized it, all thoughts of the girl who had controlled his mind earlier pushed aside. There was no time for anything else. The war had begun.

Still, he returned on the castle grounds at the break of dawn. This time, he had a message for the headmaster and his pledge to join the Order at the ready. He had to be part of it, he could no longer sit around and do nothing, while innocent lives were being taken away. He would no longer be the spectator on a bench, waiting for something to happen, witnessing the evil unfold without lifting his wand to try and make a difference. He wasn’t quite sure what made him firmly set his mind on returning to England for good and fighting with the Order, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It might have been the girl’s scream inside the maze, or it might have been the strangely calm expression on Cedric’s face, the last ounce of warmth leaving his body as his parents cried over his lifeless form. But, truth was, it didn’t really matter to Bill. All he knew was that he was ready and nothing and no one could make him change his mind. He pulled his cloak tighter around his body, a shudder enveloping him in the chill of the first hours of the morning.

A drop of white caught his gaze, drawing his attention to the edge of the forest. His eyes widened, watching as a figure seemed to float about, emanating such a powerful aura that it almost beautified everything it laid upon. The figure, belonging to a young woman, appeared to be tending to a pair of spectacular horses, and Bill was positive he’d heard Hagrid describing the creatures in great detail over the summer. He understood who they must have belonged to, and, even more, who the woman had to be.

Without his notice, Bill’s feet started taking him closer and closer to the young witch, walking faster than his mind could work to find the right words to say.

“Good morning,” his mouth formed the greeting and he instantly wanted to dig a hole and hide. He’d never felt less cool.

“Ah,” the woman nearly shrieked, turning around with her wand pointed towards his chest. Recognizing him, she hid her wand back within the folds of her white robes, and gave him half a smile that did not reach her eyes. Dark rings were painted underneath her mesmerizing blue orbs, but they did nothing to take away the beauty of her face. “You frightened me,” she added, a heavy French accent laced between the syllables.

“Sorry,” Bill sheepishly smiled and stretched out his hand. “Bill Weasley.”

“Fleur Delacour, enchantée,” she gracefully accepted his hand and delicately shook it. Her name was honey to Bill, the way she rolled each letter on her tongue stirring him and awakening his senses.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you yesterday,” he found enough sense to stop staring and reply in a humanly fashion. “In the maze,” he added, seeing the confused expression on her face.

“Oh, Viktor – it was not ‘is fault. ‘E was not ‘imself, non?” Fleur shook her head, draping her hands around her tall, slender figure as if to protect herself. Secretly, Bill felt ready to declare his own self as the only one to protect her against all evil from now until eternity.

“The Imperius curse, yeah. I heard,” he frowned. “I used to see its effects everyday, you know. Back in Egypt, I mean,” he heard himself talking. “Er – I’m actually a curse breaker for Gringotts and, until yesterday, I was based in Egypt,” Bill randomly continued, a hand through his long hair.  _ Rita Skeeter might have had it right: I am a long-haired pillock if this is how I choose to charm a woman _ , he thought dejectedly.  

“You used to?” she asked, a glint at the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, I reckon it’s pretty safe to say that I used to,” he nodded, trying to look as serious as he possibly could, parting his legs in a firm stance. Flexing his muscles a bit was also an option he considered.

“And what iz it that you are doing now?” Fleur inquired, flipping her silvery hair over her shoulder. Bill felt hypnotized, wanting to reach out and touch it, comb it, feel it beneath his fingertips.

“Probably take on a desk job at Gringotts, so I’ll be here when it starts,” he paused. “The war,” he gravely pronounced the two words.

Fleur bit her lip, heavy lids falling over and hiding the blue of her eyes. She seemed genuinely sad, and it pained him to see her ache so - which was in itself crazy, because he’d barely met this girl.  _ Get a grip _ , he mentally smacked himself.

“Fleur,” a voice sounded from the carriage, an accent as heavy as hers. “Où es-tu?”

“I’ll see you later, then,” he took it as his cue to back away. The eldest Weasley brother turned around to leave before his mouth could open again and gibber away all the wrong things.

“See you,” she replied softly. “Bill,” her honey drenched voice echoed from behind him and it was something in the way she said it that made him want to come back running and prostrate himself at her feet, vowing to never leave again.

Instead, he straightened his posture and continued to walk towards the castle, towards Dumbledore, an important message for the Order on his lips. A war was about to be fought and he had to keep his focus. It was now or never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyous and love and appreciation are being sent to @littlerose13writes and @megzfadingvoidangel on tumblr for their support and awesome beta-ing! <3  
> let's chat endlessly on tumblr: fightfortherightsofhouseelves


	2. June 1995

He watched her at the feast, beautiful, tired and sad. He watched her, arms folded against his chest, leaning back with his chair against the wall. He saw one, two, three different blokes casually sitting themselves next to her, miserably failing to catch her attention and then shuffling away dejectedly. Bill felt his muscles inflate even if just a bit and a smirk nestling at the corner of his mouth. If he had to admit, he’d say that yes, he did keep an eye on the enchanting woman, observing her, buying his time.

A venomous scoff brought him back to earth.

“You’re being really obvious, you know,” a long haired girl informed him, walking away in the opposite direction of his focus point.

“Good morning to you too, sis,” Bill saluted, smirk growing wider. He knew Ginny to be protective of him, just like his mother, and that he’d probably have a lot to deal with when things would start getting serious. When things would start getting serious?! They’d only spoken once – if that could really be considered talking – and awkwardly greeted each other once or twice afterwards, so where did all those thoughts come from? Bill rolled his eyes and sighed. The girl was already getting under his skin and there was nothing he could do about it.

As the feast progressed and eventually came to an end, a sense of loss took hold of the young ginger-haired man. It was loss for everything he used to have and maybe would never experience again: calmness, a world in which he knew his family to be safe, happiness, the security of tomorrow. All would be lost in the war against Voldemort and it was only now that he realized what a fool he’d been not to cherish them. He’d left home at an early age, traveled, moved to Egypt, thrived for a life of adventure. But now? Adventure was the last thing he needed. He felt his resolve become stronger and he was positive he took the right decision when he vowed he’d return home and fight for the Order.

A touch of lightheartedness and he sensed that she was near him. Standing still, he heard her honey voice as she addressed Harry and then Ron, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks. But what made his heart truly stop were her words, promising to come back to England and improve her language skills. The sound of her steps walking away shook him and he reckoned he had to make his decision fast.

Unobserved by the rest of the Weasleys – Ron, with Harry and Hermione engrossed in their own conversation, his mother fussing over Ginny and the twins nowhere in sight - Bill followed her tracks, hands deep in the pockets of his dragonhide bottoms. He swung the ancient oaken doors open and stepped into the blinding sun. She was wearing robes as silver as her hair today, he noticed.

“So you’re planning on returning to England,” he started, then cringed at how completely un-smooth his icebreaker came out.

Fleur Delacour turned around with a bored face, as if to tell off another person that day. It could have been his imagination, but the blonde witch seemed to relax and even smile for the faintest of moments when she acknowledged who the person trying to talk to her was.

“’ello – Bill, yes?” she nodded. “I never knew ze English to be so direct,” added Fleur, pouting slightly, a sparkle of mischievousness in her sad blue eyes.

“Erm – no. No, we’re not,” he scratched the back of his neck, subtly checking that his hair looked alright. “Should I start again?” he shoved his fists back into his pockets and caught himself tracing a small circle with the sole of his right foot.

“No, I never appreciated all this English politeness. It’s better to be direct, frank, yes?” Fleur quirked her silvery eyebrow and Bill nodded without properly understanding the question.

She scanned him from head to toe and tossed her long tresses over her shoulders. “Well, see you at Gringotts,” Fleur smiled and started floating rather than walking to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where four majestic horses where already huffing and puffing, ready to fly the French back home.

“See you,” he whispered, as the heat enveloped his features, from his neck and up-up-up to his hairline, a genuine Weasley trademark. William “Bill” Weasley was nearly twenty-five and he had never blushed in front of a girl just because she said goodbye.

June unfolded slowly, in between paperwork, moving house, installing himself in a kitchen-sized office at Gringotts and straining his ears day after day in hope of hearing the delicate tap of her footsteps down the marble corridors of the Wizarding Bank. “She must have changed her mind,” he thought, running his hands through his hair obsessively.

Then, on a sunny morning in mid-July, his name was called in a heavy accent just as he was climbing the great steps to enter the glimmering white building. Not even bothering to hide his grin, Bill turned around to take in the view. It was her, indeed, wearing a medium length summer dress and her hair pulled back in a messy bun that framed her face perfectly. She emanated elegance even from a distance and the redheaded wizard became aware that his pulsepoint was throbbing increasingly harder, stronger, his blood running through his veins faster and faster.

“So you came back,” he smartly observed, descending to greet her.

“Yes, I did,” she smiled. He was pleased to notice that the sadness in her eyes was almost gone now, which meant that the time spent in France with her family healed her – or, at least, partially. Bill reckoned he felt the same way, even if their evenings in Grimmauld Place, Sirius’ inherited house in the middle of London and where they were currently relocated, were filled to the top with Order meetings. However, it helped him understand and accept that he’d missed being close to his parents, his brothers and little sister, that he’d missed laughing with them and chatting with them over breakfast.

“First day?” said Bill, grin still plastered on his face. He didn’t fancy making an effort to conceal it: he decided he would be going all in, head-first.

“First day of work ‘ere, yes. I arrived two days ago with my muzzer and searched for an apartment to rent,” Fleur explained, looking around the small street leading to Gringotts as if to indicate how much she had to search. “England is very expensive, it was not easy,” a slight crease formed between her eyebrows.

“I also live in London right now,” he started, realising he had no idea how to continue. “So, yeah, if you ever want a tour or just grab a coffee on weekends, you know where to find me,” Bill continued, as his hand parted ways with the side of his body and traveled East to touch her arm. Fortunately, he got a hold of himself midway and ordered it to return to its safe place, deep in his jeans’ pocket. He made a mental note to remember that he became quite touchy-feely when he was flustered and do something about it. “Stay cool, Bill, you’re acting like a prat,” he advised himself.

“I know?” she asked amused.

“Erm – yes, first floor, second office on the right. It’s got my name on it and all,” he rapidly said, a strong blush creeping up his features at his obvious error. Fleur giggled and he prayed for the dragon living beneath the bank to somehow crawl up and mercifully kill him. He used to have it really well with women and now he turned into his little brother Ron trying to show Hermione Granger that he fancied her. And with about the same amount of success.

“I would like a tour,” she flashed him a dazzling smile. “And I want to see all ze beautiful cafés! You ‘ave them, yes?” she inquired, leaning a bit towards him and connecting her gaze to his.

“Oh, yes, so many,” responded Bill, not being able to break their connection. He felt he could get lost for days in those big blue eyes.

“Would you show me today?” Was it his imagination or was she leaning in even closer?

“Sorry?” he blinked, tilting his form as if drawn by a magnet.

“Today? A tour?” Fleur batted her eyelashes and continued to smile. A faint voice in the back of his mind shouted at him to say yes.

He wanted to accept the invitation with both arms open, but the words his mouth actually formed were, “Are you serious?!”

Her sweet expression immediately rearranged itself into a cold-hard one, an eyebrow raised high and her lips pursed. It seemed like the wall she always put between her and the rest of the world, ensuring that she’d never get hurt.

“I meant to say alright, I’m done at four, why don’t we meet then, but somehow it came out really loud and creepy, and I’m very sorry,” the redheaded wizard explained, feeling like his chances were as high as the Giant Squid’s right now. Fortunately, she relaxed at the sight of his blushing cheeks and agreed to meet again later. They parted ways at the entrance, him taking the elevator and her taking a seat in the lobby, waiting to be escorted to the Head Goblin and get a brief on what was expected of her.

The time dragged by slowly, torturously slow, and Bill caught himself leaving the office more often than normal just to make the time fly faster. Needless to say, he couldn’t concentrate on his tasks and was lost in thought during the daily catch-up meeting. At half past three, he was sloshed over his desk, twiddling his wand between his fingers absentmindedly. Once or twice he thought about conjuring a rose bouquet and sending it to her, but, at a second analysis, he didn’t want to force his luck. Nice and easy. All in due time. That was his motto for the near future for all things Fleur Delacour.

At ten to four, he walked out of his office, a mess of unfinished tasks abandoned behind. With a newfound spring in his step, he made his way outside to wait for her. He exhaled twice in his palm to check his breath, combed his long red hair with his fingers and tugged at his clothes to straighten them a bit.

“Ready?” her honey drenched voice called from behind, leaving him wondering where she came from.

“Yeah,” he grinned, removing his hands from his pockets. His mother once told him that it wasn’t polite to keep your hands like that when engaging into a conversation with a girl and Bill was committed to doing things right. “Let’s start at Florean Fortescue’s,” he pointed to a small, but pretty ice cream shop nearby. “It’s a bit crowded, but he has the best ice cream and he also has a lot of knowledge on History of Magic – er, if that’s a topic that interests you,” he quickly amended.

“Oh, I liked Charms more than History, but I theenk it is very interesting, this Florean,” Fleur smiled and started her stride towards the ice cream parlour.

Florean Fortescue recognised Bill right away and greeted him like an old friend. The ice cream was as good as promised, so they bought two each. Another mental note was made to remember that she appreciated mint flavoured sweets. A drop of chocolate mint rested at the corner of her little mouth and Bill watched her slowly lick it, relishing in the exquisite taste. He felt a shudder take over him and all of a sudden his jeans were a wee bit too tight.

“Right, how about I show you the rest of Diagon Alley?” Bill cleared his throat.

“Yes, why not? I’ve already been with my muzzer, but it is better to go with a local, I belive,” she agreed, searching for a bottle of water in her purse. It was truly very warm outside, which gave Bill an idea.

“And maybe, if you still have time afterwards, we can go for a drink at a nice pub I know near Eeylops – if you have the time,” he tried employing his most confident voice.

“I ‘ave ze time,” replied Fleur.

Comfortably sat in the breezy shade of the pub, they ended up chatting for hours. From similarities and differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, to goblins and coworkers from the Wizarding Bank, the conversation flowed easily. She said that maybe he could help her with his English, he said yeah, alright. She said she was afraid she’d miss her home, he said he’d meet her every day, if that helped. The young man felt a pleasant warmth envelop himself as he listened to the sound of her laughter, taking in how her eyes sparkled when she revoked a particular happy memory or how she wiggled her button-like nose ever so slightly whenever she disliked something. Moreover, he did not miss her leg bumping his own once or twice or how she gazed at him intently, one hand supporting her chin and the other rapping the wooden surface of the table as if she was waiting for something to happen.

Like the gentleman he was, or was becoming right then, he didn’t quite know or care to find out, Bill Weasley walked her home. She lived quite close to the Bank, he discovered, in one of those bohemian big windows apartments above an old bookshop. As he said his goodbye and was about to leave, her dainty fingers caught his hand and spun him around. Standing on her tiptoes, Fleur touched her full lips to his stubbled cheek, also caressing the corner of his mouth. Before he could respond – and, oh, how he wanted to respond – she was hurrying inside the building, saving a last look in his direction for a subtle wink.

This time, Bill did not blush. Her bold action broke his insecure boyish demeanor. In truth, he always knew he was a sucker for confident girls. If anything, he felt expectant of what the next day might bring and even a bit turned on. He touched two fingers to the spot where her lips had been and started laughing, wondering how he could be experiencing all this in such a time of fear and uncertainty. As he backed away to Disapparate, he caught a swish of silvery hair at the large window above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my thanks and appreciation go to @littlerose13writes on tumblr for being such a wholesome wonderful person! besides being an amazing beta, she’s also this super talented author! go read her fic Sweeter Than Fiction, it will be the best experience ever <3


	3. July 1995

Their after-work meetings became a daily routine, as Bill made sure they spent some time together even when he had a task to finish for the Order. He strained his imagination to find new ways of meeting her, of working around his triple schedule of Gringotts Wizarding Bank employee, fighter against the dark arts, and bloke smitten with Fleur Delacour. Sirius picked up first on his odd behaviour, rushing in mere seconds before the start of a meeting, dashing out just the same in the morning after having rigorously checked himself in the dusty old mirror. “Your ponytail might be a wee bit aloof, loverboy,” Sirius smirked a week into this newfound routine. But still Bill carried on, waiting for her outside every evening, casually leaning against the marble walls of the Wizarding Bank until the great front doors swung open and she appeared from behind them. She’d walk into the sunlight and subtly look for him. When their gazes connected, she’d smile and he’d feel his heart thumping faster. She’d tell him about her day, and he’d tell her about his, effortlessly chatting until the sun went down. Some days, they would just have a seat at the ice cream parlour, which was slowly becoming their favourite place in the Alley, enjoying some brilliant dessert and each other’s company.

Eventually, their afternoon strolls evolved past the barrier of Diagon Alley and into the heart of London. At first, the Muggle world seemed intimidating, almost unwelcoming, but Bill always favoured a little risk, a little glamour in his life. They walked as far as their legs could take them and then some. England had a different taste with her by his side, always noticing something new, always sharing her piquant and rather frank impressions. “That building needs a brush of paint and flowers to be pretty again,” she’d point out with a critical eye. Or “England is like a woman who was once beautiful, but now she is too tired to take care of herself,” Fleur would comment, as they passed by tourist attractions and famous streets in London. For all her critical comments, what he appreciated most about her was how easy she could voice her opinion. She wasn’t afraid of being judged or misunderstood and it quite fascinated him.

They went by Big Ben (“Eet is so absurd that only the English can go inside”) and Westminster Abbey (“You have to pay money to go inside a church? In Paris, we can go to Notre Dame for free!”) and sat on the grass just between the two, listening as life blossomed on a hazy summer day in the big city. On July 31st, they wandered through Trafalgar Square at dusk, witnessing one of the most astounding sunsets to have ever graced the horizon. Red clashed with pink and orange to create an image they would both remember until the very end. Bill felt he died a little inside when she commented that the red painted onto the bleeding sky reminded her of his hair. He told her his was nowhere as interesting and jumped into a cheesy comment like even-the-scene-unfolding-in-front-of-them-paled-in-comparison-to-her or something of the sorts, when she laced her fingers through his. The gesture shut him up nicely, and they waited in companionable silence for the sun to disappear behind Covent Garden. Before long, Bill draped an arm around her slender form and smirked as he noticed her cheeks drenching in pink. Actions, rather than words, were better appreciated by her, he supposed.

Something wet on his forehead interrupted his cheerful reverie. Leaning his head back to look up, his eyesight was blinded as more drops of rain flooded his features. And like all English summer rains, it uncoiled full force, swamping the concrete beneath their feet. Quickly, Bill took off his trench-coat and covered both their heads in a desperate attempt to protect them from the furious stream.

He felt Fleur gripping his elbow tightly and the next second he was spinning and spinning until he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers. Realising she was taking them somewhere, Bill relaxed against her grip and let himself be guided by her. Being the eldest of the Weasley brothers, he’d gotten so used to being the one to make the decisions, he nearly forgot what it felt like to sit back and trust someone else. But with her, it was strangely easy to do so.

With a loud bang, they landed on what appeared to be her doorstep, slightly shivering and soaking the floor before them. The torrent of rain had been so strong, Bill was quite positive he didn’t even have dry knickers anymore.

Turning the key twice to the right, Fleur opened the door and gracefully floated over her doorstep (which allowed the wizard behind her to fully appreciate the benefits of wet clothes). The light tap-tap-tap of her muddy shoes sounded from somewhere inside, while he was left awkwardly sitting in the corridor. Switching his weight from one foot to the other, Bill was not entirely certain if he was supposed to follow her inside or say goodbye and quiclky rush away. The ginger-haired young man chose to go with the first when he heard his name being called from somewhere within the small apartment. The way she pronounced those four letters, heavy accent on the “I”, it made him melt on his feet, it made him feel so much – from excitement, to glee and even to a stir of passion inside his chest.

Gathering his confidence, his step only a little unsure, he entered. Two cosy armchairs framed the large living room windows, a vase filled with lilies on a table between them. The brittle sound of raindrops crashing and turning into million different others came in through the open windows. The room smelled of rain and vanilla, and Bill closed his eyes, breathing in to remember the fragrance.

He heard her curse in French from the next room, and could not quite help a smile sneaking on his lips. It was such an enjoyable contrast between the gentle elegance of her being and this witty girl cursing as though no one could hear her. If there was ever a perfect mix of grace and character, to Bill Weasley she was the live embodiment of it. As if charmed, his feet took him forward and he stopped, leaning against the door frame uninvited.

Bill saw her standing in the middle of the room, light dying away and giving birth to the summer’s night. Large drops of water were falling from her hair as she gave it a firm squeeze. From afar, his gaze caressed her glowing cheeks, not daring to travel further. Enchanted, he found himself thinking that maybe he could one day belong to her. He wanted to be hers, only hers, a thought which electrified his senses. A restless sound leaping from his lungs, he closed the gap between them, one finger under her chin, trembling lips on open ones. He let life happen and kept on kissing her, stronger and hungrier as her hands rested on the back of his head, drawing him closer in. He could smell the rain on her skin, taste the sweet flavour of her mouth and it only made his heart beat like thunder against his ribcage. She slowly broke the kiss, dainty fingers tangled in his soaked hair and searched deep inside his eyes. A short nod and she understood that what they shared was mutual. Happiness made her even beautiful, all her features lighting up as she rested for a moment in his arms. A scent of calm, a smell of hope enveloped the chamber and Bill knew, he fully knew then that it did not matter to him that he missed many of her firsts. No, it did not, as long as he could have her lasts.

She touched his lips with hers again, setting a slow rhythm. Letting his wet ginger hair loose, she brushed it with fingers, adding more and more pressure to their kiss, setting him on fire. Her right hand gently laid on his left bristled cheek, he wondered when was the last time he shaved. Her palm tenderly ran against the red stubble, and he took it as cue that, in spite of Molly Weasley’s constant nagging, at least somebody appreciated it. The young man smirked and closed his eyes, immersed in the sweet sensation of her mouth on his. His strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and he could not believe how fragile she felt, how small against his own body. The droplets trickling down from her wet hair to his arm gave Bill goosebumps and another pinch of courage. Feeling the tip of his tongue delicately touch the top of her bottom lip, Fleur shivered. He opened his eyes, remembering that they were both still soaking. With a swish of his wand, a pleasant heat wound through them, drying their clothes and leaving behind a funny tingling in their stomachs.

“Tea?” she asked, stepping back and tucking a silver sheet of hair behind her ear. Quite frankly, Bill rather hoped to carry on with what they were previously engaged in, but accepting a cup of tea sounded like the polite thing to do. So he nodded and gave her a crooked smile, hands finding their way back to his pockets.

The boiling kettle between them, Bill and Fleur were sat at her small kitchen table, mugs gripped with both hands. Once again, the sound of the pouring rain stretched and filled the house, rendering it so silent, so unbelievably silent. A sense of restlessness took hold of the young man – all this stillness made him anxious, eager to start something new. It reminded him of the calm before the real storm, and indeed a storm was approaching. Sipping the warm liquid, he thought about the consequences of the war to come. What if he fell in love with her and then had to be separated? What if he fell in love with her and then lost her because of his own mistakes? And what if he was already in love? He did not wish to know the answer, did not care to dwell on that which he had no control over. Not then, at least. Moments such as those were created to be lived, not thought about.

She traced her fingertip over the rough skin on the back of his hand, neither of them speaking. She made him feel more, want more, she made him want to be alive and stay alive. Setting his mug on the table, he grabbed her petite hand and claimed her lips daringly. Her response was so intense, he simply forgot to breathe. Their fingers twined and Bill had to grip the edge of the table to maintain his balance. Upper lip on lower lip and reverse, they kissed for days and maybe years, deaf to the thunder roaring outside. They kissed for a lifetime, tenderly then hungrily, and nothing else existed but that moment and two lonely souls finding each other. When they finally emerged for air, he moved a freckled finger, following the contour of her jaw. Fleur leaned her pretty head to the side, allowing him to explore as much as he liked – or dared. Her blue eyes spoke of mischief and promises, taunting him, provoking him.

“You’re the most breathtaking woman I have ever met,” he exhaled, his index finger traveling along her rosy cheek. Her chest was rising with every breath she took, her own hands gripping the chair she was sitting on for support. He felt happiness radiating from her smile, a full and genuine smile erupting at his words, and all the spirit in her shone brightly, blindingly bright.

“Bill,” honey voice calling his name, “I was alone until I met you,” she broke the comfortable silence. He did not quite know how to respond or how to act. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions zoomed inside his mind, but none of them reached his mouth. He willed himself to speak, he pleaded with his lips to part and with his tongue to roll what he’d been aching to say since the day he saw her.

He started talking, words dripping down his tongue like rain. What he told her, he could not remember. He knew not for how long they stood gripping each other afterwards, kissing and talking and caressing. He knew not how he got home, alight with happiness and caught in his own mind. At the end of the day, his memories melted into each other to paint the picture of the blithest of his evenings.  Only her face, her beautiful smiling face remained imprinted on his retina as he went to sleep that night. Bill dreamed of the girl who stole his heart on a sunny day in 1995, dreamed of her laughter, its wonderful jingle ringing in a happier world. They would make their own world, he promised. A world just for them.

But of course, in spite of his plans of intimacy and seclusion, word got around fast in the Weasley family. Sooner than he expected, and with a little extra help from Mundungus Fletcher (“Saw ye datin’ that pretty bird couple days ago. French, is she? Good one, mate!”) and a pat on the back, everyone from his little sister – who scoffed and crossed her arms – to his mother, who chose not to comment, but turned her back, knew about him and Fleur.

“Back to work on her English skills, I reckon,” Ron supplied between mouthfuls of porridge the following morning. “She told me and Harry she’d be back, didn’t she?” the youngest Weasley brother added hopefully, as though expecting Fleur Delacour to gracefully land on the chair next to him any minute.

“Yeah, she is. Working at Gringotts with me, actually,” he explained and got up to leave. Exiting the kitchen, he thought he saw Ginny, Hermione and Molly exchange somber looks and shook his head. He'd deal with them later, maybe.

On their way up to their shared room, Fred and George took a halt next to Bill with a grin, watching him put on his shoes, his cloak and adjusting the little details in his general appearance.

“I expect all this language learning has some mutual benefits”, Fred smiled innocently

“What do you mean?” asked Bill, suspicious of the angel like faces his brothers were putting on. Nothing that came from that lot was angelic, that much he knew.

“She gets to practice her English,” George started in a guileless voice. “And you get to practice your French kissing,” he finished, batting his eyelashes and making kissy faces from a safe enough distance from their big brother’s fists. Fred and George snickered, hi-fiving each other, while Bill – oh, well, he guessed he could have Bat-Bogey hexed them into the next room, but he settled for rolling his eyes. After all, they got it right. He had absolutely no problem with becoming fluent in French kissing over the course of their little get-togethers and he was planning on securing a positive streak. Bringing two fingers to his temple, Bill saluted his younger brothers and stepped out into a new day. And if kisses were involved, he’d be sure to humbly accept them.


End file.
